Swear to Shake it Up if You Swear to Listen
by TheVillainofTheStory
Summary: The annual FBI masquerade ball. An unwilling genius. A plan to rock everyone's socks off. The story of how Spencer Reid actually enjoyed himself at a party.


I'm having major writers block on my other stories, but I had this little idea nagging at the back of my head. I thought that maybe if I wrote it up and posted it that the writers block would go away. It kinda worked, and you all get a cute fan-fic out of it.  
On a different note: this isn't really Morgan/Reid, though if you wish to read it that way you may. It is if you squint, but I didn't write it with that in mind. Also, OOC Reid, but that's the point.  
I don't own the song that's used in this, nor did I write it or have any affiliation with it other than the fact I consider it my 2nd theme song for life (yeah, I have a list). I understand that I used different Panic at the Disco song lyrics for the title, so don't bother to point it out =P

Swear to Shake it Up if You Swear to Listen

"I really don't want to go," Reid whined. Morgan rolled his eyes at the younger man. Sometimes he forgot that Reid was the youngest of their group, but a twenty some odd year old man shouldn't whine like a ten-year old girl.

"Reid, it's the annual FBI masquerade," he explained patiently. "You have to go. All of the BAU has to attend."

"But-"

"No buts," Hotch called from his office. It was uncanny how the man was able to know what they were talking about from three offices and a flight of stairs away.

Morgan chuckled. "You heard the man," he said with a grin. "And wear something neat. I don't want to see you showing up like Einstein in a mask. The point is to guess who's who by the end of the night, and we want to _win_."

Emily, who had been checking her e-mail, glanced up. "Since when did the ball turn into a competition?"

"Since the BAU started profiling the other agents," Morgan replied easily. That was his second favorite part of the night. "We are expected to figure out who's under the masks. If we do, they know we're doing our job. If not, then we're slacking."

"I don't know if that is interesting or juvenile," the female agent remarked as she turned back to her screen. "I'm coming as Snow White. Morgan?"

"The Phantom of the Opera," he said with a dramatic wave of a non-existent cape. It made him look more like a vampire than anything else, but no one cared.

"Reid?" they asked, turning to him as one.

Reid didn't like being out on the spot without an answer ready. He was still trying to figure out a way to skip the ball, not thinking up a costume. "Umm," he stalled. "It's a surprise." It sounded lame even to himself.

Morgan didn't buy it. "Whatever man," he said, with a shake of his head.

-  
Spencer Reid sat at home on his living room sofa and pondered what to do. If he tried to skip the stupid thing, Hotch would probably show up on his doorstep to 'give him a ride'. On the other hand, if he tried to get a costume together he would probably fail utterly and Morgan would mock him for eternity. Neither was any good.

Why did things like that always happen to him? Why couldn't he just do his job and be left alone? Why did everyone need to show him off as a freak?

Then of course, other questions floated past. Why was Reid so pathetic in his own eyes? What was preventing him from doing the normal thing, just this once?

Finally, his mind settled on the most important question: what was preventing him from completely blowing Morgan and the others away with a costumed the likes of which they had never seen?

A grin uncurled on the doctor's face. That was it. The masquerade was the key. Masks. Sure this new plan would potentially humiliate him, but if it succeeded, oh the sweet victory.

Leaping up from the sofa, Reid scrambled into his bedroom. Flinging open his closet door, Reid smirked lightly to himself. The expression felt foreign, but he would have to get used to it for this grand plan to go off without a hitch.

The closet was filled with all manner of strange things. Reid loved patterns and colors, but there were a few very strange things near the back of the closet. An electric blue yukata. A neon yellow suit with lime green tie. Behind the grass skirt, Reid found what he was looking for. Grabbing three different outfits, he pulled the parts he wanted off of each of them.

"Anything else," he muttered as he stared at his new costume with pride. Scratching his ear, Reid suddenly remembered. "OH!"

In the bathroom medicine cabinet, Reid kept one of his most random possessions. A single, thin, gold hoop earring. On a whim and to observe the healing power of the ear, Reid had gotten only his right ear pierced his second year in college.

Smiling at his reflection in the mirror, Reid thought that his plan might actually work. The only thing left was the mask and transportation. If it were possible, Reid's smile grew larger at the thought. No one had seen Reid's car before. As far as they knew, he didn't even have one.

-  
Morgan stood speechless as the driver of perhaps the sweetest car in the lot tossed the keys to the valet with a casual, "Take care of her." A black 1960 Cadillac was meant to be treated with awe and respect. The driver, whoever it was, either didn't own the car or didn't know what he was driving.

For a moment, Morgan forgot about the car entirely. The man who had been driving the Caddy was even more shocking. He wore fitting black slacks and a white _Renaissance _puffy shirt with a black vest buttoned over it; both the pants and the vest had fine red pinstripes. On his head the man wore a black fedora with a red band. He looked like King Louis XVI and Archie Goodwin* had a baby, but it worked for him. Maybe it was his height that made the costume come together.

The mask was an intriguing item in its self. It was red, with black rickrack edging. Fine gold swirls crisscrossed it, giving the man a look like he was both (had it been a comic book or some other such nonsense that Morgan would _never_ read ;p) a good guy and a bad guy.

With a start, the black man realized he was openly gaping at another man. Coughing to hide his embarrassment, Morgan was thankful that his Phantom mask covered most of his face. He would have to go and do something manly later to make up for ogling another dude, like playing football.

-  
Emily had thought that the ball was going to be at least going to be somewhat fun. She had been very _very_ wrong. It was easy to figure out which of the board members were who. They weren't very original, seeing as they all showed up as their own renditions of Deep Throat.

Sighing, Agent Prentiss scanned the room once more. It had been decorated to look like some dark version of a fifties nightclub. Costumes ranged from her own adorable Snow White to JJ's elegant Vanna White. Even Garcia had been forced to attend, showing up as Barbie.

Through a break in the crowd, Emily saw a new figure. Tall and handsome, he looked like he belonged with the décor. His brown hair had been half-heartedly slicked back, and a bit of gold glinted from an earlobe. Walking with an easy, sauntering grace, the man weaved through the crowd towards the Director of the FBI.

Emily could hardly stop herself from drooling. Maybe the party wasn't a dud after all.

-  
Rossi and Hotch stood near the back of the room, looking ridiculous. Rossi wore a Roman soldier's uniform. Hotch favored a cowboy costume. Neither of them was happy with the way the night was going.

"I say we cut out now, change, and go for a steak," Rossi muttered. Hotch was inclined to agree. Ass-less leather chaps were not his idea of comfortable clothing. But they had an obligation to fulfill. Besides, Hotch had to make sure that Reid showed up.

Always in tune to his friend's line of thought, Rossi smiled. "You can't blame the boy for not showing up. We'd have just made a laughing stock of him."

Hotch leveled a glare at Rossi through his 'deserts of Texas' style mask. "You don't know that. He might have gotten a spectacular costume. The team really needs to stop picking on Reid. Rossi? Are you listening to me?"

"Who's the guy talking to the director?" Rossi demanded, ignoring the question. "I've never seen him before."

"He might be from any part of the country," Hotch said dismissively. Then he turned and looked at the man. Whoever it was held a glass of scotch and was joking easily with the director as if they had been bosom buddies for life. Not to mention the man was dressed immaculately to match the décor.

"Let's find out," Rossi said, narrowing his eyes at the newcomer.

-  
"JJ!" Garcia squealed as she scrambled through the crowd. The other woman was easy to find; JJ was the most elegantly dressed woman in the room.

"What is it Penelope?" JJ asked, immediately concerned. "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? Wrong?" the techie demanded. "I just saw a guy so hot that we could bake cookies on him. Nothing is wrong. Haven't you seen him?"

"Who?" JJ asked with a laugh. Garcia was always so energetic and high-strung. It was usually best just to hang on for the ride.

Penelope gaped the older woman. "The guy everyone is talking about of course!" she exclaimed, flinging out her arms to gesture at the entire room. "He just walks in here and starts talking to the director of the FBI like it was nothing. Then he starts flirting with the girls and joking with the guys and, and… He's like a whirlwind of personality and looks! He called me doll baby!"

"Where is he?" JJ asked, conceding defeat. If Garcia wanted her to see whom she was talking about, there was no fighting it.

"Right there!"

Standing next to one of the members of the band was the man Garcia was talking about. And for once the tech super girl hadn't exaggerated: the guy was yummy. And tall. And oh my… was that his laugh she heard? Her heart was fluttering from all the way across the room.

"Told you so," Garcia declared smugly.

-  
Reid's plan was working so well that it scared even him. Working on the assumption that no one believed he was capable of such feats, Reid had gone out of his way to charm everyone in the room in some way. The risky part had been Hotch and Rossi, but even they had been fooled.

It was nice, being the bell of the ball (for lack of a better term). When the first whispers reached his ears, _Who's the tall one in the white puffy shirt? Where that gorgeous one come from? Does anyone know the Rat Pack guy's name?_, he was shocked. Now he was glad. It was time for phase 2 of the plan. In four minutes, everyone would remove his or her masks. Reid had received special permission from both the director of the FBI and the band to sing a song.

Standing up on the stage, Reid grabbed a microphone. "If I could have everyone's attention," he said, marveling at how un-Reid he sounded. The room quieted immediately. "In honor of the end of the ball, I have one last test for the BAU team." He saw Rossi, Hotch, Morgan, and Emily's heads snap up. "I want them to see if they can figure out who I am by the end of my song."

A murmur of assent went through the crowd. They all wanted to know the identity of the mystery man who could rock a puffy shirt.

The band stuck up, and off Reid went. He was laying all of his cards on the table: his car, his clothes, even his voice.

_Please, leave all overcoats, canes and top hats with the doorman._  
_From that moment you'll be out of place and underdressed._  
_I'm wrecking this evening already and loving every minute of it._  
_Ruining this banquet for the mildly inspiring and..._

_Please, leave all overcoats, canes and top hats with the doorman._  
_From that moment you'll be out of place and underdressed._  
_I'm wrecking this evening already and loving every minute of it._  
_Ruining this banquet for the mildly inspiring and..._

_When you're in black slacks with accentuating, off-white, pinstripes_  
_Whoa, everything goes according to plan._

_I'm the new cancer, never looked better, you can't stand it._  
_Because you say so under your breath._  
_You're reading lips "When did he get all confident?"_

_Haven't you heard that I'm the new cancer?_  
_Never looked better, and you can't stand it_

_Next is a trip to the, the ladies room in vain, and_  
_I bet you just can't keep up with, (keep up) with these fashionistas, and_  
_Tonight, tonight you are, you are a whispering campaign._  
_I bet to them your name is "Cheap", I bet to them you look like shh..._

_Talk to the mirror, oh, choke back tears._  
_And keep telling yourself that "I'm a diva!"_  
_Oh and the smokes in that cigarette box on the table,_  
_they just so happen to be laced with nitroglycerin._

_I'm the new cancer, never looked better, you can't stand it._  
_Because you say so under your breath._  
_You're reading lips "When did he get all confident?"_

_Haven't you heard that I'm the new cancer?_  
_Never looked better, and you can't stand it_

_Haven't you heard that I'm the new cancer?_  
_I've never looked better, and you can't stand it_

_Haven't you heard that I'm the new cancer?_  
_I've never looked better, and you can't stand it_

_And I know, and I know, it just doesn't feel like a night out with no one sizing you up._  
_I've never been so surreptitious, so of course you'll be distracted when I spike the punch._

_And I know, and I know, it just doesn't feel like a night out with no one sizing you up._  
_I've never been so surreptitious, so of course you'll be distracted when I spike the punch._

_And I know, and I know, it just doesn't feel like a night out with no one sizing you up._  
_I've never been so surreptitious, so of course you'll be distracted when I spike the punch._

As the last line echoed through the silent room, the director of the FBI came up onto the stage. "Magnificent, m'boy," he whispered to Reid before taking the mic. Reid nodded, feeling giddy.

"Let's get around of applause," the director suggested into the mic. The room erupted into a cacophony of clapping. Whistles and various appreciative shouts bounced off the walls, magnifying before hitting Reid. As the noise died down, the director continued. "Now, on the count of three, we remove our masks. One, two,(inserts dramatic pause) THREE!"

Off the masks flew. Standing before the entire eastern coast portion of the FBI, Reid removed his mask last. Dead silence greeted the revelation. No one believed what they saw.

That was, until Morgan started laughing uncontrollably. Making his way to the front, still chuckling in the dead quiet room, Morgan gave Reid a hand off the stage. "Man, you amaze me."

"Thanks," Reid mumbled with a shy smile. He was still in shock that he had pulled it off.

"Don't go all embarrassed on us now, kid," Morgan admonished lightly. "Now that we know you have the potential to be less nerdy, you and I are going clubbing. But only on one condition."

Reid, who just wanted to go home and sleep and pretend the entire experience had been a pleasant dream, asked with a yawn, "And what's that?"

"You let me drive your car."

*Archie Goodwin is a character in the old detective series Nero Wolfe. Google it.


End file.
